Mia didn't believe a word of it, of course.

She figured I'd been so traumatized that I was hallucinating.

When I dragged her into the luxury shopping district, she hunched her shoulders the entire way, terrified of running into someone she knew.

"Viv, let's just go. The salespeople here all know Linda — imagine how humiliating it'd be if they kicked us out…"

Mia clutched the hem of my sleeve, her voice barely a whisper.

I walked straight into a haute couture boutique.

It was members-only. You couldn't even get through the door without an appointment.

The security guard moved to stop me, but I flashed the black card.

My grandfather had left it to me. Only ten existed worldwide — it wasn't just a bank card, it was a statement of identity.

The guard froze, then did a complete one-eighty, bowing so low he nearly kissed the floor.

"Welcome, esteemed guest. Right this way."

Mia's jaw dropped. "Viv, where did you get that fake ID made? It looks ridiculously real."

I didn't explain. I just pulled her inside.

The store manager came out personally to greet us, all smiles.

"Bring out every new piece from this season. The most expensive ones," I said casually.

That's when a shrill voice cut through from the fitting area.

"Well, well — isn't this the stray dog that just got thrown out? What, here to window-shop?"

Of all the luck.

Faye was standing in front of a mirror in a red strapless gown, posing and preening.

Linda sat on a nearby sofa, coffee in hand, eyeing us with undisguised contempt.

"Security really has gone downhill. Letting in any stray off the street."

Linda set down her coffee and smoothed her skirt with deliberate slowness.

"Manager, get these two out of here. They're ruining my shopping experience."

The manager hesitated, glancing between Linda and me.

Linda was a regular — she only ever bought entry-level pieces, but she was still a VIP.

I, on the other hand, was a nobody.

But people who'd spent years in luxury retail had sharp instincts.

Instead of acting immediately, the manager turned to me with polite caution. "Ma'am, do you have an appointment?"

Before I could answer, Faye cut in:

"An appointment? They can't even afford a scarf in here! That one's a bottom-tier influencer, and this one's a broke office worker. Don't let them fool you, Manager — they'll stain something and not be able to pay for it!"

Mia was shaking with anger. "Faye, that's enough!"

"Enough?" Faye strutted up to Mia and jabbed a finger into her shoulder. "Face reality. One word from Linda and you're nothing. Walk out now while you still have a shred of dignity."

Linda stood and approached me, her gaze landing on the black card. She let out a scornful laugh.

"Cute little sticker. Did you buy that online? The craftsmanship is pretty rough."

She turned to the manager. "If you don't remove them, I'll file a complaint and have every one of my students boycott this store."

The threat landed. The manager clearly didn't want to offend the "etiquette coach" and her network.

She looked at me apologetically. "Ma'am, if you're not purchasing anything, please don't disturb the other customers…"

I smiled.

"Who said I'm not buying?"

I pointed at the red gown Faye was wearing.

"That one. I'll take it."

Faye burst out laughing as if she'd heard the funniest joke of her life. "You'll take it? Do you even know how much it costs? Eight hundred and eighty thousand dollars! You couldn't afford it if you sold yourself!"

I ignored her and pointed at the bags Linda had been eyeing.

"Those too."

Then I looked around the entire store.

"Everything they haven't touched — wrap it all up."

Dead silence.

Even the manager was stunned, her mouth hanging open.

"All… all of it?"

Linda sneered. "Keep up the act. Let's see how you pay. Manager, bring the card reader — let her swipe! And when it declines, call the police for fraud!"

Faye piled on. "Do it! If you don't call the cops today, I'll lose all respect for you!"

The manager brought the card reader over with trembling hands.

Mia was on the verge of tears, gripping my arm with white knuckles. "Viv, stop this — let's just run…"

I gave her hand a gentle pat and a reassuring look.

Then I handed over the black card.

Beep.

A crisp, clean chime.

Seconds later, the machine printed out a long receipt.

Transaction approved.

The manager stared at the number, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

The mockery on Linda and Faye's faces solidified, then shattered into raw horror, as if they'd seen a ghost.

"That's… that's impossible…"

Faye stammered. "The machine must be broken."

I took the receipt without even glancing at it and tossed it to Mia.

"A gift."

Then I turned to the shell-shocked manager.

"Oh, and that red gown — since it's been worn by something unclean, I don't want it anymore. Just cut it up."

The manager snapped out of her daze and instantly switched to full groveling mode.

"Yes, yes! Of course! Whatever you say, miss!"

She whipped around to face Faye, her tone turning ice cold. "Ma'am, please remove the dress. This customer has purchased it and requested it be destroyed."

Faye's face turned a deep, mottled red. She shot a desperate look at Linda.

But Linda couldn't be bothered with her anymore. She was staring at the black card in my hand, eyes flickering with calculation.

"Who… who the hell are you?"

I walked up to Linda, leaned in slightly, and whispered in her ear:

"Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is — your little 'socialite' game is over."

Mia floated out of the store like she was walking on clouds.

"Viv… am I dreaming?"

She pinched herself hard and winced at the pain.

"Not a dream."

I ushered her into the Rolls-Royce Phantom parked at the curb — the butler had just delivered it.

"This car… is yours too?" Mia ran her fingers across the starlight headliner, her voice trembling.

"Yeah, a hand-me-down from my grandfather," I said casually.

It was actually a limited custom edition. Only three in the world.

Mia took a deep breath, then turned to face me with a dead-serious expression.

"Vivian Sinclair. Be honest with me. Are you some billionaire's mistress? Because if you are, you have to tell me! I know you've got money now, but being a homewrecker never ends well!"

I almost choked on my water.

"What are you even — I told you, it's an inheritance!"

I tossed the probate documents into her lap.

Mia flipped through them, her eyes growing wider with every line.

"Thousands… millions… billions… ten BILLION?!"

She screamed and nearly passed out.

"Calm down." I shook my head. "That's just the start."

Mia lunged at me, clinging to my leg. "I'm riding with you from now on! Linda, the finishing school — they can all go to hell!"

Seeing her bounce back like that, I felt a wave of relief.

But it wasn't over.

Linda was the type to hold a grudge over the smallest slight.

After today's humiliation, there was no way she'd let it go.

Sure enough, before we even got home, Mia's phone buzzed again.

This time it wasn't a text. It was a livestream notification.

Linda had gone live.

The title was sensational: EXPOSED: Washed-Up Influencer and Fake Socialite Run Credit Card Fraud Ring at Luxury Mall!

In the stream, Linda was sobbing on camera.

"Everyone, I'm absolutely heartbroken. I tried to teach these girls proper etiquette, tried to help them move up in the world. And what did they do? Not only were they ungrateful — they used a stolen card to commit fraud at a luxury boutique!"

"I've already contacted the mall and the police. These criminals must be punished!"

Faye chimed in beside her: "Exactly! That Vivian girl can't even afford takeout on a normal day — how could she possibly buy millions of dollars' worth of anything? It's obviously a stolen or cloned card!"

The comments were a flood of outrage.

"Disgusting!"

"Lock them up!"

"Dox them! Don't let them get away!"

Mia stared at the livestream, shaking with fury.

"How can they twist everything like this?! Your card went through!"

I watched Linda's fake tearful face on the screen, my expression cold.

She was clever, I'd give her that.

She knew the public loved to tear down anyone who seemed to have undeserved wealth. She knew how to weaponize outrage.

She was betting I wouldn't dare come forward to set the record straight — or that my money was dirty.

After all, a nobody who was scraping by yesterday suddenly spending millions today? That did look suspicious.

"If she wants to make a scene, let's help her make it bigger."

I pulled out my phone and dialed.

"Attorney Whitfield? I need you to draft several cease-and-desist letters. Defamation and slander. Also, dig into Linda's finishing school — I want every piece of dirt you can find. The more detailed, the better."

After hanging up, I turned to Mia.

"Tomorrow night's gala is the real show. Linda wants to blacklist us? Let's find out who's really blacklisting whom."

The next evening. Summit Manor — the most exclusive private club in New York.

Tonight was the annual Charity Elite Night.

Everyone here was real money. Net worth starting at ten billion.

Linda's so-called "finishing school" was really just a pipeline — funneling girls to these rich men as companions.

She'd packaged herself as an etiquette coach and the girls as socialites, skimming massive commissions and tuition fees off the top.

Tonight was her "graduation ceremony" — and her sales pitch.

When Mia and I arrived, the entrance was already lined with luxury cars.

Mia was wearing the haute couture gown from yesterday, her palms slick with nervous sweat.

"Viv, can we actually get in? I heard security tonight is insane — no invitation, you get tossed out on the spot."

"Relax."

I linked my arm through hers and walked toward the entrance.

The security guards saw me and immediately bowed with respect.

"Ms. Sinclair, welcome."

Mia stared at me in shock.

I smiled. "Oh, I forgot to mention — Summit Manor is another part of my grandfather's estate."

Mia had officially gone numb.

The moment we stepped into the ballroom, we turned heads.

Mia was stunning.

That priceless gown draped perfectly over her figure, and I'd hired a top stylist yesterday to complete the transformation. She looked like a princess who'd stepped straight out of a fairytale.

The "socialite students" in their rented dresses and caked-on foundation faded into the background instantly.

Linda was in a corner with her students, toasting a heavyset middle-aged man with a beer belly.

When she spotted us walking in, her face went white.

"How did they get in?!" Faye blurted out.

Linda clenched her jaw, set down her glass, and marched over.

"Security! Where is security?! How is anyone just walking in?!"

Her shrill voice drew every eye in the room.

Several guards came running, but the moment they saw me, they froze. Nobody moved.

Linda didn't notice the hesitation. She jabbed a finger in my face and screamed:

"Vivian! Mia! You've got some nerve! You steal a card and then show up here to pull another con?! I will call the police right now!"

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"A stolen card? Really?"

"They don't look the type — she carries herself well."

"You never know. Scammers these days come in pretty packaging."

The heavyset man waddled over, leering at Mia from head to toe, then turned to Linda.

"Linda, is this the disobedient student you mentioned? Not bad looking. Just needs a little breaking in."

Linda instantly switched to a fawning smile.

"Mr. Briggs, patience. A wild filly like her is more fun once she's tamed. But first, we need to teach them their place."

Then she turned to me, eyes venomous.

"Vivian, I don't care how you snuck in. Get out. Now. Or I'll expose your little credit card scam to everyone here!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Evidence? Let's see it."

Linda smirked and pulled out her phone, showing a photo on screen.

"This is from the bank — that black card was reported stolen! You're not even the cardholder!"

She held the phone up for the crowd to see.

It was a doctored image, of course. But in a setting like this, it was enough to sow doubt.

The crowd erupted.

"She really is a thief!"

"How shameless!"

"Throw her out — she's tainting the whole event!"

Faye was beaming with triumph. "What do you have to say now, Vivian? You put on a good show at the boutique, but the truth always comes out!"

Mia wanted to charge forward and argue, but I held her back.

I looked at Linda, my voice even.

"Linda. Are you sure you want to do this here?"

"Scared?" Linda stepped closer. "Then get on your knees! Slap each other like I told you yesterday — until I'm satisfied! Maybe if Mr. Briggs is in a good mood, he'll throw you some scraps."

Briggs chuckled and reached out to touch Mia's face.

"Come with me, sweetheart. I'll keep you fed and happy — no need to steal and scheme…"

His hand was inches from Mia's cheek.

CRACK.

A slap echoed through the entire ballroom.

It wasn't Mia.

It was me.

I backhanded Briggs across his greasy face with everything I had.

The room went deathly silent.

Everyone was stunned.

Striking someone at Summit Manor's gala — and not just anyone, but the wealthy Mr. Briggs.

It was suicide.

Briggs clutched his face, staring at me in disbelief, then erupted in a roar:

"You hit me?! Do you have any idea who I am?!"

Linda shrieked. "Vivian! You've lost your mind! Don't drag us down with you!"

She spun toward the guards and screamed: "What are you standing around for?! Grab this lunatic! Break her hands!"

The guards exchanged glances. Still, nobody moved.

Linda was apoplectic. She lunged at me, clawing for my hair.

"ENOUGH!"

A commanding voice thundered from the second floor.

Everyone looked up.

An elderly man in an impeccably tailored three-piece suit was descending the staircase, flanked by a phalanx of men in black.

The instant the crowd recognized him, every face in the room changed — including Briggs, mid-rage.

It was Mr. Hartford. New York's true power broker.

The official steward of Summit Manor — and my grandfather's closest friend.

Linda spotted Mr. Hartford and assumed her savior had arrived. She rushed toward him.

"Mr. Hartford! Thank God you're here! These two women crashed the gala — they've been stealing, scamming, and assaulting people! They've destroyed the sanctity of this event! You must punish them!"

Briggs stumbled over too, hand still on his cheek. "Mr. Hartford, this girl is out of control — she even hit me! She's spitting in your face!"

Mr. Hartford didn't spare either of them a glance.

He walked straight to me.

Then, in full view of every stunned face in the room, he gave a slight bow and said respectfully:

"Ms. Sinclair. I'm sorry you had to endure that."